


Spoonful of Sugar

by notlucy



Series: The Brownstone in Brooklyn [18]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Beleaguered Bucky Barnes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Jigsaw Puzzles, M/M, Multi, Nobody likes NyQuil, Polyamory, Sickfic, So Married, Stubborn Peggy Carter, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Sweet, World War Threesome, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Peggy's not sick. Bucky's not buying it. Steve's not helping.





	Spoonful of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samabigaleallan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samabigaleallan/gifts).



> This work takes place within the larger _[Brownstone in Brooklyn](http://archiveofourown.org/series/804555)_ universe. However, you don't need to have read the rest of the series to enjoy this. For context, Steve/Bucky/Peggy are all happy together in the modern era, Steve and Bucky through the usual methods and Peggy because A Wizard Did It. 
> 
> Thanks to Samabigaleallan who gave me this idea in a comment on another one of these stories - hope you enjoy it!

Peggy was snoring. Granted, of the three of them, she was most prone to it, but she didn’t snore often, nor were those snores usually of the chainsaw variety. But that morning? She was felling trees left and right.

“What the hell?” Bucky muttered, having been dragged from a dream in which he was being chased by bees to discover that the noise was, in fact, his charming lady love. Flat on her back, mouth hanging open, looking decidedly undignified.

“I know,” Steve said from where he’d been perched on the other side of the room in an armchair, halfway through tying his shoes. “It’s impressive.”

“Should we wake her up?”

Steve raised an eyebrow as he got to his feet. “Since when has that ever worked out well for us?”

“Touché,” Bucky grinned. “Hey, gimme a second to get dressed, I’ll come with you.”

 

* * *

 

January wasn’t the best month for running, but Bucky had reasons for finding it appealing - with their face masks and gloves on, he and Steve could be relatively anonymous as they ran a dozen or so miles through Brooklyn. Granted, their size and speed gave something away, but nobody was looking too closely.

(Plus, they needed it, coming off Christmas, which had been a week and a half of decadence. His body wanted exercise and some vegetables, and wasn’t it pretty cool that he could recognize _wants_ and _needs_ these days?)

Steve, ever the little shit, pushed them an extra two miles at the end, and Bucky was breathing hard by the time they got back to the house. He fully intended to shower, preferably with Steve, maybe with Peggy if she was up.

Showering, however, was put on hold when they discovered Peggy rearranging the kitchen cabinets in a robe and slippers.

“Uh, good morning,” Steve greeted.

Peggy promptly sneezed.

“Bloody _dust_ ,” she snapped. Uh oh.

“Is it dusty?” Bucky said, which wasn’t the right answer, causing her to jerk her head up and glare. She looked annoyed and...kind of sick. Oh. So that was it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her cheeks were flushed, so of course, she’d overcompensated. Because she was Peggy.

“This whole _house_ is dusty,” she informed them. “I don’t care what Tony says about...HEPA filtering nonsense. It’s…” She sneezed again, before coughing into her elbow.

“Peg,” Steve said, in that slightly condescending way he sometimes had.

“What?” she said, eyes blazing. Steve faltered, taking a step back.

“Hey.” Bucky knew a fight when he saw one starting. “I need a shower. Can we talk about how dusty the house is after breakfast?”

Both Peggy and Steve turned to look at him, Steve with the expression of a kicked puppy and Peggy with the violence of an angry bear.

“Fine,” she gritted. “Only because…” She proceeded to sneeze four times in a row and throw up her hands.

“You’re sick,” Steve said, and damn Steve, Bucky’d _almost_ had it handled.

Peggy disagreed. Loudly. Bucky left them to it.

 

* * *

 

Steve was in the bedroom when Bucky finished his shower, pacing back and forth, muttering something about “damn Peggy doesn’t know what’s _good_ for her” and how she was “stubborn and willful” which Bucky thought was the pot calling the kettle black.

“Hi, Stevie,” he said. “Shower’s free.”

“She’s goddamn sick, Buck,” Steve replied.

“Yes,” Bucky agreed. “I figured that out when she started sneezing. But you know she won’t admit it.”

Steve threw his hands up, helpless. “So what do we do?”

“ _You_ don’t do anything,” he said. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Bucky…”

“Take a shower and let me handle it.”

Steve frowned, but he stalked into the bathroom anyway.

Bucky threw on some clothes before heading back downstairs, where Peggy had left the mess from the cabinets on the kitchen floor and was now sitting in the den, diligently staring at some paper files she’d brought home from work. Pretending she was fine, even as she sniffled.

“Hey, honey,” Bucky said, kissing the top of her head as he passed. “You hungry? I was thinking breakfast in bed.”

“I can’t,” she replied. “I’m busy.”

Peggy was lucky he’d had so many years of practice dealing with the sick and ornery.

“No?” he said. “Well, alright. Can I at least get you a cup of tea?”

She paused. He had an in. “That...yes. That would be nice, thank you.”

He couldn’t resist kissing her head one more time before making his escape to the kitchen. He put the kettle on first, then set about making Peggy’s tea just the way she liked it, as she was snobby when it came to the stuff, both in the brand used and the method of preparation. Bucky had picked up on her tea protocol quickly and could honestly taste the difference - Steve wasn’t quite as discriminating.

While the tea was steeping, he started in on toast and scrambled eggs, which would be easy on her stomach. It was also quick, which was important when dealing with the sick and irritable. He got a tray ready with everything and headed back to the den, feigning nonchalance.

“I made too much toast,” he said. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”

Peggy, he noted, was still looking at the same damn page he’d left her with, filled with mostly redacted black bars - couldn’t have been that interesting.

“Huh?” she said, as though he’d woken her. Maybe he had. “Oh, Bucky. Ah...toast, you said?”

That had been easier than he’d expected. Granted, it wasn’t breakfast in bed, but she did join him on the couch, and with a little prodding curled up at his side to eat her toast and nurse her tea.

“Did you have a nice run?” she asked, hardly noticing as Bucky passed her a tissue so she could blow her nose.

“Uh huh,” he said absently. “Cold out there.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you tomorrow.” Sure, Peg. She couldn’t keep up with them, never tried, but she’d run as far as she wanted, then turn back, and they usually caught up with her in time to jog the last few blocks together. Of course, that was when she was healthy. If Bucky knew his sick people - and he _knew_ his damn sick people - she was going to need at least a couple days of R&R.

“That’d be good, honey,” he said, rubbing her arm. Peggy would bristle if he suggested she take it easy - not unlike Steve. They were two peas in a pod, or maybe two sides of the same coin. But the fact of the matter was, Peggy was human, and she was sick in a way Steve couldn’t be anymore. Bucky was getting pretty good at her tells, though - when she was at the edge of her stubbornness and just about ready to give in.

One of them, for example, was falling asleep on his damn arm, which she did three minutes later. And if she drooled on his shirt, well, he wasn’t going to be mad about it.

“There you go, Maggie,” he teased, easing her down to the couch as he deftly slipped out of her grip. He tucked a blanket around her, smoothing her hair back before leaving the room with the breakfast dishes.

Steve came gallumping downstairs a few minutes later, oblivious to Peggy’s slumber until Bucky shushed him.

“Really?” Steve said, looking pleased. “You got her to admit it?”

“No,” Bucky shrugged. “I got her to sleep.”

“Same difference.”

It wasn’t, but elucidating the nuance to Steve was pointless. Plus, Steve was so impressed with Bucky’s skill as a caretaker that he decided to show his appreciation by hoisting him onto the kitchen counter for a little mid-morning necking. So that was fun.

 

* * *

 

The relative peace lasted nearly two hours, with Steve heading to the garage to futz with one of his bikes and Bucky retreating to the dining room where they had a massive jigsaw puzzle going on the table. Who needed dinner parties when you had a giant map of the London Underground to put together? So many fuckin’ white pieces, though. Bastards.

His work was interrupted by a cough. Turning, he found Peggy, freshly awoken yet not so fresh in general. Her hair was all over the place, her eyes were glassy, and she was stubbornly swaying on her feet.

“Pegs…”

“Have we got any of that…” she flapped her hand about irritably. “That orange goo.”

“Uh.”

“The _goo,_ ” she huffed. “The...damn it. The horrid tasting stuff.”

“Oh! NyQuil?” Because sure, Steve and Bucky didn’t get sick - Bucky’s issues were more of the chronic pain-in-the-shoulder variety, while Steve was a damn beacon of health - but they had friends, visitors, and Peggy to consider.

“No,” she said, peevishly, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. Charming as ever. “That’s the _green_ goo. It’ll put me to sleep.”

On the one hand, asking for any goo meant she was acknowledging her illness. On the other hand, asking for DayQuil instead of NyQuil meant she was still being ridiculous. Treading lightly was important.

“I could go and get you some,” he said diplomatically. There was a bodega on the corner that had that sort of thing, although the expiration dates on some of their stuff could be iffy at best.

She sniffled in response, before sneezing three times in a row. Without a tissue. God, she was lucky they couldn’t get sick.

Steve chose that moment to come in from the garage. Of course. Bucky was having a great day.

“Why are you up?” Steve asked her with a frown.

“Pardon me?” Peggy’s eyebrow arched.

“Peggy wants DayQuil,” Bucky stepped in. “Steve, go to the store.”

“What’s...what?”

“DayQuil,” Bucky repeated, just as Peggy snapped, “the _orange goo_.”

“You don’t need DayQuil,” Steve said. “You need a damn doctor, Peg, you’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she barked. “It’s just a cold! I’m…oh, dear.” That last bit of pique resulted in her swaying rather violently and nearly losing her balance. Luckily, Steve was right there to catch her, letting her lean up against him.

“Bugger,” she muttered.

“You’re sick,” Steve said firmly.

“I’d be _fine_ if someone got me some medication instead of _talking_ at me all bloody day.”

Steve and Bucky locked eyes over her head. Bucky shrugged. He’d just go to the bodega.

It took him all of fifteen minutes to get there and back, finding the house suspiciously quiet when he walked through the front door. He located Steve in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich.

“Where’s typhoid Maggie?” Bucky asked, setting the brown paper bag on the counter.

“Tired herself out yelling at me while waiting for you, then fell asleep on the couch again,” Steve said with a rueful grin. “You want something to eat?”

“I can get it.” Steve was a fantastic, charming guy, but his bread to condiment ratio was lacking, and he never used enough cheese. Bucky reached for the bread knife, intending to cut himself off a couple slices. “She reminds me of someone when she’s like this.”

“Mmm?” Steve went to the fridge, pulling out a container of leftover chicken.

“This skinny little punk I half-remember who used to fight me tooth and nail anytime I said he ought to take it easy.”

Steve frowned, setting down the container and picking up a butter knife. “That’s different.”

“How’s that, exactly?” Bucky wanted peanut butter and jelly, so he was going to have it. Nutrition and maturity be damned.

“I...wasn’t that sick.”

Bucky couldn’t help it, he snorted out loud. “That’s some bullshit, pal,” he informed Steve, heading to the pantry and pulling down the industrial-sized jar of peanut butter they kept around. “Peg’s hale and hearty compared to what you used to be, and…”

“But she _can_ get sick,” Steve snapped, cutting him off as he aggressively slathered mayonnaise on the bread. “It’s...Jesus, she won’t let anyone take care of her and…”

“Hey.” Bucky frowned, putting the peanut butter down on the counter and reaching over to touch Steve’s shoulder. “Stevie, you wouldn’t like her half as much if she weren’t so much like you. You just gotta...give her as much as she’ll take, alright?”

Steve nodded, a frown marring his features as he gripped the edge of the counter with both hands. “Fuckin’ hate it when she’s reckless.”

“You and me both,” Bucky said, leaning in to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “And I got two of you to worry about.”

“Bucky…”

“Pot and fuckin’ kettle, Rogers,” he said with a grin.

Steve huffed, but he didn’t disagree.

 

* * *

 

Peggy Carter was a lot of things - canny, scary smart, funny as hell, and one of his two favorite people on earth. She was also a stubborn ass who couldn’t admit when she was wrong. And hell, Bucky was a patient guy, but he had his limits.

Because Peggy, having woken from her second nap of the day, decided cleaning the guest bathroom was a thing she had to do. Despite the fact that they hadn’t had any guests, nor was it especially in need of a deep clean.

Bucky was first alerted to her idiocy by the sound of the water running above his head. The guest bathroom was directly above the room they’d deemed the library (really more of a reading nook with shelves), and there was no reason for anyone to be in there unless they were being _difficult_.

Warily, he got up, hoping to God Steve hadn’t heard her as he marched up the stairs and followed the sound to find her, on her knees, yellow rubber gloves on her hands as she scrubbed at the perfectly clean bathtub.

“What. The hell. Are you doing?” he said, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice because he was just about done with her.

She looked up, and she was no less pale or clammy than she’d been several hours before. If anything, she looked worse, and the smell of the cleaning products couldn’t be helping her condition. “I’m _cleaning._ ”

“Like hell,” Bucky said. “You’re going to bed. Right now.”

“I beg your pardon…” Peggy’s eyes flashed, though there wasn’t much spark in them, given her condition.

“Bed. Now. I’m getting the green goo, and you’re taking it, and you’re gonna sleep this shit off.” Bucky hoped that his tone brokered no argument - he was pretty sure it was the tone he’d used when getting Steve to sleep off sickness before the war, but Peggy could give Steve a run for his money in sheer willfulness.  

“I’ll do no such thing. The cheek of you, Bucky…”

“I could give a shit, Margaret Elizabeth,” he snapped. “You’ve been a pain in my ass all day. Now get your sick self to bed before I carry you there.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at him, speechless. That was a new one.

It didn’t last long. “You can’t tell me…”

“Count of three to get those gloves off or I’m doing it myself,” Bucky replied, calm as he pleased, not giving her an inch. “One…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

“Two…”

“You’re being totally unreasonable.”

“Three.”

He stepped forward, reaching for her arm as she took a step back and squawked a protest. “Don’t you dare!”

“Go to bed!” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Peggy glared at him. That was fine - he’d been glared at before. Slowly, disdainfully, she began peeling off the gloves, one at a time, tossing them into the sink before standing with her hands on her hips.

“You gonna move, or am I gonna have to move you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be an ass.”

That was answer enough. Shrugging, he stepped forward and scooped her up, bridal-style, paying no attention to her protesting squeak. Which ended with a sneeze. On his arm. The metal one.

“Aw, geez…” he managed.

“You bloody well deserve it!” She wasn’t fighting him, though, that was something. He took the opportunity to march right out of the guest suite and into the hallway, where Steve was just coming up the stairs.

“What…?” Steve said.

“Peggy’s going to bed,” Bucky informed him. “Go get the goddamn NyQuil. The green stuff.”

“Uh…”

“Go!”

Steve scarpered, Peggy squirmed. Bucky didn’t give a shit, carrying her right up to the third floor and into their bedroom where he dropped her unceremoniously on her obstinate arse. “Stay.”

“I’m not a _child_.”

“You’re acting like one. And I’d know a little something about that, so knock it off.”

She frowned, then very nearly pouted as Bucky bent to take her slippers off before maneuvering her under the covers. Once she was settled, he went to the bathroom to rinse his arm, coming back out to find her sitting up against the headboard with her arms crossed.

Bucky could play that game. He went to the nightstand and pulled a tissue out of the box, holding it up to her nose. “Blow.”

“Christ,” she muttered, snatching it from him and blowing her nose. Without a proper receptacle nearby, she reluctantly handed the tissue back to Bucky, who dropped it in the wastebasket near the door just as Steve arrived with the NyQuil.

Bucky poured her a healthy dose, standing with his arms folded and watching her drink it while Steve went to the bathroom to get a cup of water to help her wash it down. Peggy made a face, gulping the water to rinse the taste out of her mouth.

“There,” she grumbled. “Satisfied?”

“Delighted,” Bucky said wryly. “Lie down.”

Peggy glared daggers at him. Bucky didn’t care. Once she was flat on her back, he got into bed next to her, then motioned Steve to do the same. They didn’t often sleep with Peggy in the middle because she insisted he and Steve were furnaces attempting to smother her to death. But hey, if she had a fever, they could burn it right out of her.

It didn’t take long for the medication to do its work, and within twenty minutes she’d dropped off again, soft snores emanating from her open mouth. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but for Bucky, it was the best thing he’d seen all day.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said once they were sure she was out.

Bucky shrugged, rolling onto his back and smiling. “Nothing doing, Stevie.”

(After all, he’d had plenty of practice.)

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Peggy - well on the mend - slid into Bucky’s lap as he sat at the breakfast table.

“Sorry I was a misery, darling,” she murmured, kissing his forehead and both cheeks before ending up at his nose. “Thank you for being such a good nurse.”

Bucky smiled, squeezing her waist and looking up, glad to see the color back in her cheeks. “Anytime.”

“How can I make it up to you?”

He shrugged, kissing her shoulder through the silk of her robe and shrugging. “We’ll figure something out.”

Surprising exactly no-one, that was precisely what they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this little bit of fluff. If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, I'm at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com).


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